


it’s like catching lightning

by stevebuckiest



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Bad Weather, Breakfast in Bed, Bucky Barnes Has PTSD, Cuddling & Snuggling, Daddy Kink, Dom Bucky Barnes, Fluffy Ending, Lazy Mornings, Lazy Sex, M/M, Morning Cuddles, POV Bucky Barnes, Post-Captain America: Civil War (Movie), Rain, Sleepy Cuddles, Snuggly Steve Rogers, Steve Rogers Has PTSD, Sub Steve Rogers, Tea, Thunder and Lightning, but its more snarky than strictly sexual? does that make sense? he says it like twice, its not heavily delved into but we all know why steve doesnt like bad weather
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-05
Updated: 2021-03-05
Packaged: 2021-03-18 04:01:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,958
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29852259
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stevebuckiest/pseuds/stevebuckiest
Summary: Even during the war, Bucky habits of helping Steve stay warm didn’t stop seeing themselves through. No matter how cold he was feeling himself or how much hotter the serum made sure Steve ran, Bucky always made sure that Steve took fireside on missions every time they kipped out on the ground and could spare the smoke to sleep next to some coals. Half the time when he was up on watch, he would throw his blue pea coat- the only pride and joy he had left in that hellhole- over the other man while he was asleep to make sure that he was comfortable enough to stay that way.Here, cuddled up a century later in bed under blankets that are no longer so thin, there’s not as much of a reason to do that. But when Bucky wakes up to the sound of rain on their rooftop, that habit of helping to keep him warm hasn’t changed, and neither has the huff Steve lets out in his sleep as the motion of Bucky moving to make sure that he’s pressed up comfortably against his chest.(alternatively: steve and bucky get through a thunderstorm by Getting It On)
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers
Comments: 8
Kudos: 102





	it’s like catching lightning

**Author's Note:**

> this was written to be indulgent for me and a friend. posting this at night when it’s set in the morning may seem counterproductive but i held a poll on twitter to see which fic the masses wanted and this was the one! people are probably staying up reading fic to wait for the wandavision finale, right? hopefully this will help pass the time. 
> 
> snuggly steve and relaxed bucky are my favorite, as is bucky being a tease and steve being kind of a Bitch about letting bucky be sweet on him. without further ado!

Understandably, neither Steve or Bucky have ever really liked the rain. How could they, when even before the war and all the terror and trenchfoot the mud would always bring, bad weather back in Brooklyn almost always had Steve’s soul knocking up on God’s front door? 

Steve always got so easily sick, and the perpetual holes in his clothing and shoes sure didn’t help. Newspaper lining the soles of the second could only go so far when every step would get them soggier and soggier until they practically let out a _squish_ sound Bucky could hear across the street once he finally left Steve’s side to start walking to his own home. That was a problem Bucky was never quite able to help solve- he could get his Ma sell off his hand me down shirts and slacks all he wanted for Sarah to sew up so Steve would fit inside, but shoes were the one thing that even Sarah Rogers couldn’t tailor, and any shoes Bucky had in Steve’s size were long gone by the time the blonde’s became beat up enough for Bucky to wish he had them back around. 

Cold feet (cold _anything_ really) always led to a cough. Coughs always led to weeks of wheezing in Steve’s chest that had Bucky clutching Steve’s extra inhaler close every time they stepped outside, even when the weather was warm and sunny. The colds were always something chronic, the uneasy feeling Bucky got from them frequent, but they both knew that when the weather took a turn for the worse- Steve’s health almost always would as well. 

Bucky hated that, but not as much as Steve hated the measures the other man and his mother always took to try and prevent the sickness from sinking in. Considering they lived (and still live) in New York City of all places, snow, sleet, and less than gentle summer showers were all staples in the weather they saw no matter what season they seemed to be in. The clothes and blankets they had back then might have been threadbare, but that didn’t mean Bucky and Sarah weren’t going to bundle him up in them anyways. 

Steve fought against it in fair weather and out of it, tooth and nail until Bucky had no other choice at some points but to quite literally grab him by the shoulders and shake some sense into him to stop him from being blinded by the stubbornness. 

“You’re not a goddamn baby,” he’d said at least a million times, before they were together and ten times more often after, because being _Bucky’s_ baby made Steve fight being coddled because of his body even harder. “I know that. But if you get _sick_ I’m gonna be babying you even more, so can you shut the hell up and let me have this?” 

Steve had always huffed after that. But he had also always shut up and let Bucky win, even if it was with a sock to the larger man’s shoulder that despite Steve’s small frame left Bucky’s skin stinging. But that also could have just been because of Steve’s touch, getting Bucky tailspun like always. Either way, keeping Steve warm in bad weather always worked unless it didn’t- and unfortunately _didn’t_ was the option that they saw showing through the most.

Scolding and scarves only got them so far, and _saying_ “you shouldn’t be out in the rain, you’ll catch pneumonia again!” didn’t stop Steve’s immune system from still carrying that intention out. 

Yeah, Bucky dreaded waking up on days where the sky was grey, heavy with clouds that he knew could have Steve spinning into sickness in seconds flat with a wrong step sideways into the street. He dreaded days where he got off working the docks only to have to walk home in the rain even more- partly because he hated getting wet and coming home cold, but mostly because he knew Steve was going to have to be doing the same. 

They had a lot of close calls. The priest practically had their address down pat, so well that after a while Bucky stopped having to even specify where they lived every time things looked bad enough for them to want him around. Neither of them were particularly religious, especially not Steve after Sarah passed, but they both knew she would have wanted her boy to be sent off properly whenever his time came. That was reason enough to respect her wishes, even if she was no longer alive. 

But somehow, by some miracle, or maybe just Steve’s sheer stubbornness- they always scraped by, always managed to make it out the other side of whatever ailment the awful weather or Steve’s even more awful health had to throw at them. They weren’t always able to afford the medication or the doctors that Steve deserved to be able to see, but they made do. That’s what they always did, back then. That’s what they _still_ do to this day. 

Handling Steve’s health even when the weather wasn’t so bad was never smooth sailing, but Bucky made sure to do his best. Steve hated the idea of being a burden, being a bother, being treated like a baby- but snuggling a little closer at night and making sure Steve took the side closest to the radiator didn’t exactly require the skin off Bucky’s back. Take care of Steve, whether he was being a stubborn jackass or his sweetheart… that was always Bucky’s higher calling, he felt like. Sure, he was good at a lot of other stuff, but what would that matter if Steve was no longer by his side? Rain or shine, making sure Steve was safe enough to see the light of next sunrise was half the reason Bucky wanted to wake up himself. 

But rainy days… rainy days were always enough of a reason for Bucky to worry as well. Snow days always saw him doing the same. Anything cold, anything wet, anything that meant the weather was anywhere south of warm and sunny- that always made them both a bit anxious, and that was before Steve’s crash down into the Arctic. That was before Bucky’s stints of isolation in cryo chambers, before both of their worst fears became freezing into ice. 

Even during the war, Bucky habits of helping Steve stay warm didn’t stop seeing themselves through. No matter how cold he was feeling himself or how much hotter the serum made sure Steve ran, _Bucky_ always made sure that Steve took fireside on missions every time they kipped out on the ground and could spare the smoke to sleep next to some coals. Half the time when he was up on watch, he would throw his blue pea coat- the only pride and joy he had left in that hellhole- over the other man while he was asleep to make sure that he was comfortable enough to stay that way. 

Here, cuddled up a century later in bed under blankets that are no longer so thin, there’s not as much of a reason to do that. But when Bucky wakes up to the sound of rain on their rooftop, that habit of helping to keep him warm hasn’t changed, and neither has the huff Steve lets out in his sleep as the motion of Bucky moving to make sure that he’s pressed up comfortably against his chest. 

It’s not storming yet, per se, but there’s a definite rumble from the sky that has Bucky digging his chin deeper into Steve’s shoulder where he’s spooning him from behind. It’s the position they sleep in most often, Bucky’s metal arm sandwiched between them to keep the surface warm enough so that it won’t startle them awake at night, the other slung up around his body along with a thigh so that Steve’s half blanketed down by the actual blankets and half held down by his bulk. On Bucky’s own end, it makes him feel safe. Settled. For Steve, he hopes on his side it feels the same. 

The sigh he lets out in his sleep seems satisfied, at least, strong body snuggling back into Bucky’s own so that they’re cuddled even closer. They always are close, but this morning Bucky decides to make sure to hold Steve even tighter. Neither of them like weather like what today is apparently going to display. Even if Steve hasn’t quite been disturbed yet, Bucky is going to do what he can to keep him comfortable. Tucking up to Steve like this is always comfortable, though- he’s no longer skin and bones like he once was, and he might not exactly be all soft edges now, but that doesn’t keep him from being the sweetest thing Bucky has ever touched. He always has been, even when he was barely 95 pounds of nothing but stubborn attitude and spite. 

Bucky’s mind is still hazy from having just woken up, and he’s sure that his hair is a mess, but that doesn’t stop him from humming and burying his face in the back of Steve’s neck where blonde baby hairs tickle at the own scruff of his beard. He should probably try and trim it today, keep it from being too bristly (even with the serum, Steve can still break out, and beard burn is only really fun in certain areas, after all), but he’s not going anywhere anytime soon. Not today, when there’s a storm waiting to wage as soon as he steps foot out of this little safe space that they’ve created. 

He’s not as affected by weather like this, he doesn’t think. He may have been frozen at least fifty times over, but he never drowned. He fell, but the memory of that has faded thanks to how many times his brain has been fried- a blessing and a curse in one go. Steve, on the other hand, remembers it all. The ice cracking around him like the thunder currently doing the same outside, the water rushing in, the conscious choice he made to _let_ it… Steve remembers _everything_ , up until his last breath, gasped out like a prayer to the God they grew up with but no longer believe in. Every second. Every inch he sank down into the sea. 

Or at least, that’s what Bucky has gathered from the little that he’s been told. They don’t talk about it a lot, but he knows that weather like this has dialed more close calls for Steve than cryo ever did for him. It’s not a competition, and besides, Bucky has things that bother him more than they do Steve. This is just how it’s played out, thanks to their pasts. 

In the present, Steve snuffles and drags the arm Bucky has around his waist up until it’s cradled close enough to his face for his lips to press against it in a sleepy kiss, tired breathing puffing out against the skin of Bucky’s flesh thumb. The feeling of it makes the weather a bit more bearable. Bucky smiles and presses his own half awake kiss to the nape of Steve’s neck, nuzzling closer until Steve makes a soft sound and his fingers twitch where they’re still clutching around Bucky’s own. 

Like this, Bucky’s arm is close enough and the room quiet enough save for Steve’s sleep breathing for him to feel the blonde’s heartbeat, going slow and steady like every dream Bucky had back during the days Steve spent scrawny and sick. Back then, every beat Steve managed was a blessing. His heart was- _is-_ the biggest of anyone Bucky has ever met, but his body didn’t always know that as well Bucky does. 

Now, with the serum, Steve’s heart is just as strong as Bucky always knew it should have been. So is the rest of him, even if all the muscle and power packed into him is offset in appearance by the sight of him held so small and sleepy up to Bucky’s chest. Bucky can’t see his face from this angle, especially not with his face still half buried against his skin, but he can still use his other senses. 

Even with all that’s going on outside, he can hear Steve inhaling through his nose, that telltale little wheeze the serum never quite took care of sounding off before he’s puffing out through his mouth to tickle against Bucky’s thumb. He can smell the fabric softener they use where he’s got his own nose pressed against the patch of skin, soft above the collar of his shirt. He can feel the fabric of it pressed up against where he’d decided to forego his own before they went to bed last night. Bucky’s never been a morning person, but he might be more often if this is what he’s welcomed with. 

Really, he thinks, toes curling as he resists the urge to stretch at running the risk of waking Steve, as much as he’d rather avoid going out in it, the rain is somewhat soothing now that he doesn’t have to worry about Steve kicking it the second he gets wet. The house they live in now may have been a renovation project they picked up as one of their first parts of reuniting, but it’s nowhere near as leaky as their last apartment had been. Steve still sleeps on the radiator side, though there’s no real reason for that besides being out of habit, just like Bucky holding him is. 

Bucky yawns and contemplates going back to sleep. A glance at the clock on their nightstand tells him that it’s only half past six, too soon for him even to tell Steve to text Sam and make sure the other man knows than their run won’t be happening in the rain. Some people might want to weather it out for the sake of _working_ out, but Bucky is not one of them, and neither is Steve. Neither is Sam, most likely. Besides, they can skip a day. They both have the serum, and it’s not like Sam isn’t in shape to let one day go by to spend lazing in bed instead. That’s what Bucky is planning on doing with Steve today, anyways. They’re already off to a pretty good start. 

He closes his eyes for a while, but sleep doesn’t take back over, which would be a bummer if he weren’t already so comfortable as he is. It’s nice in here, even if the weather outside is decidedly not. Warm. Cozy. It’s easy to be content. Idly, with the back of one metal finger, he begins tracing a pattern into the fabric of Steve’s shirt over his back, eyes still fallen shut. He’s relaxed, but if he still tenses up a bit at every boom of thunder in the background, no one is always to see it anyways. It can be his own little secret- the stupid kind, which are the only ones he tends to keep from Steve. 

A lot of his thoughts about the blonde himself could be considered stupid- or sappy, anyways. Christ, half the stuff he says out _loud_ could be considered that as well. Steve might not protest all the pet names (as much) anymore, but some of them are so over the top sweet that he still can’t help but wrinkle his nose at them. _Sugar tits_ has gotten the most active reaction so far- sometimes (most of the time) that’s half the reason Bucky says them in the first place. Teasing Steve has always been a bit of a hobby. 

Bucky stays in the same position for a good while, not quite going back to sleep, but drifting between somewhere dreamlike and somewhere half awake that has him starting at particularly sudden bursts of rain. He’s well trained enough as a sniper not to physically move past snapping his eyes open every once and a while- the wind and rain might now remind him of cryo the same way they remind Steve of sinking his ship into the sea, but even super soldiers can get startled sometimes. Bucky’s pretty used to paranoia by mow, but that doesn’t mean he’s immune to human reflexes. He’s still at least half human, after all. Three quarters, if he’s going off the arm. 

The next time he voluntarily opens his eyes, a second look at the clock informs him that it’s now 8:15. It doesn’t feel like it’s been that long to Bucky, but time is a tricky thing for them to navigate nowadays. Bucky’s lost so much of it without Steve by now that a little _with_ him doesn’t much matter. 

But, as much as Bucky would like to waste even more, his bladder has other plans. Specifically the urge to piss. So, carefully extracting himself from Steve, he makes sure the blankets are tucked back around the still slumbering man’s body, safe and snug, before rolling his way out of bed to make his way towards the bathroom with all the grace of a master assassin taking a morning off the job. 

Since he slept in nothing but an old pair of boxers, the cold air has him a bit chilly, especially when his bare feet hit the tile in front of the toilet. It could be how dreary it is outside dampening the day before it’s really even started, but Bucky suddenly feels so under the proverbial weather that when he’s finished taking care of his business and brushing his teeth, he heads to the kitchen while still wiping his freshly washed hands on the fronts of his thighs. That doesn’t help him warm up any, but he figures the tea he starts to make a few seconds later will help take care of that job on its own. 

The kitchen is almost completely quiet besides the sound of water beating on the outsides of the windows, but when Bucky turns on the bulb over the stove to shed the light the cloud obscured sun means the room is missing, the soft humming of that joins in as well. He closed the door to their bedroom behind him, so he doesn’t keep himself from humming as he bustles around the counter in the kitchen where they have everything set up for all their tea and coffee needs. 

Bucky’s more of a tea person, personally, but Steve (at least in this aspect of life) goes either way. And even though Bucky _prefers_ tea- sometimes their early morning missions mean that he needs something a little stronger to start the day. Not today, though. Today is a tea day. 

They have a neat row of both flavorings for their coffee and containers for their different types of tea leaves put together in the corner where their espresso machine and kettle are. The kettle they use is a stovetop (sue him, he likes the classics) so he only has to fill it with water and turn on the stove to set it on top of before he starts waiting, slumped against the counter, arms crossed while he yawns. 

His eyes catch briefly on the box of sugar cubes wedged next to where his favorite mug sits and he smiles, the thought of Steve’s perpetual habit of stealing them coming to mind. He always eats them, and it irritates Bucky to hell and back when he goes to use one only to find half gone- but it’s also always so cute to see him walking around the house crunching and trying not to look guilty when Bucky spins him around for a kiss that tastes a little too sweet. _Sugar_ wasn’t a nickname meant to be literal, but Steve always did like to go the extra mile. Besides, they didn’t have many sweet things _or_ sugar growing up. Bucky guesses he can let Steve have as much as he wants now. 

It’s a peaceful moment, even with the rain pelting the roof and the heavy silence filling the room. Bucky continues humming to try and lighten it, thinking back to what he’ll do when he goes back to their room in the meantime to help pass by the wait while the water heats to a boil. He has a few articles he wants to catch up on, not to mention a book he’s been meaning to read for about a month. 

That second one might have to wait until Steve is awake enough to keep the light on, because Bucky will be damned if he doesn’t use this opportunity to spend the day with the both of them cuddled up in bed. Steve’s alarm should be going off for their run with Sam soon, but even if Steve doesn’t stay up after that, Bucky is sure he’ll use the chance to cuddle up closer again anyways. 

Maybe Bucky will light a candle, do a couple crosswords or some crocheting to help practice his prosthetic’s dexterity. It doesn’t matter, really. Not as long as he’s got Steve to spend this dull day with him to make it better. Weathering the good _and_ the bad together, as it were. 

The whistling of the kettle once the water is warmed wakes him up just a little bit. He’s quick to switch off the stove and get to pouring the water into his mug where he already has an infuser and his loose leaf tea of choice prepared. He’s gone with chamomile for today, having wanted something calming. He only makes one cup, but it’s a big one meant to last him all morning. Instead of a sugar cube (Steve having struck again, the fiend- Bucky’s going to have to start slapping his hands away) he opts for honey, adding a dash into the mug and stirring it in with a spoon as he slowly makes his way back to their closed bedroom door. 

Steve is still sleeping when he creeps in, now rolled onto his stomach with both arms nestled around his pillow and nose tucked sideways on top. He doesn’t even stir as Bucky sets himself back up on the bed, slipping under the covers to this time sit up straight, back against the headboard so he can look down at his fella with a faint smile, reaching out with his flesh hand to brush the hair out of where it’s caught in Steve’s lashes. 

His beautiful boy. Even with morning breath and pillow case creases on his cheek. Bucky loves him, half asleep, fully awake- even in his dreams. He’d be a fool not to love him now when he looks so angelic. 

Like this, laid back and loose in a way he almost never is while awake, Steve looks young. Like the age he’s meant to be, and not the age everyone else had made him _out_ to be. He’s always unaware of how beautiful he is, Bucky thinks, but especially during moments like these. He’s soft like this. Sweet. Completely un-self conscious. Maybe it’s a bit creepy to stare at Steve when he’s sleeping- but Bucky’s loved him for the better part of a century. They’ve shared a bed about as long. He’d say he’s allowed to look at this point.

He drinks in his fill, literally and figuratively, cup of chamomile clutched in his metal hand with a grip gentle enough not to crack the ceramic. Once he’s taken the first few sips, he sets it on his side of the matching nightstands and reaches over to unplug his phone as well in order to pull up an article and start reading, all with Steve still sleeping soundly at his side. 

Steve gravitates towards him even in sleep, like Bucky’s the sun and he’s a flower trying to bask in the feel. The sun isn’t around today, but Bucky is, and Steve somehow presses up to his side while still passed out, sighing gratefully when Bucky sinks his metal hand still warm from the mug into his hair and starts carding through. 

His alarm should be going off any second now. Bucky is going to be sort of sad to see him startled awake, but despite the fact he’s already texted Sam and checked in to cancel their plans himself, Steve’s phone is pretty far away. If Bucky tried to get it, Steve would unfortunately wake up anyways. 

All Bucky can do is wait. It only takes another ten minutes for him to see it through, anyways, Steve’s alarm blaring and the blonde opening up blue eyes blearily. His serum enhanced reactions are still sluggish with the syrupy slowness of waking up from a good sleep so suddenly, but after a few seconds and fumbling of fingers on his phone screen, the alarm shuts off and Bucky is shushing him from trying to roll over enough to text Sam back. Steve must have heard the rain and realized what it meant. 

Bucky beat him to handling it, though. He tells him as much. “I already took care of Sam. He was on board for skipping today too.” Steve makes a sound of affirmation in place of a verbal answer, enough for Bucky to know he understands even as the younger is pulling his pillow over close enough to Bucky’s abdomen for his face to be shoved halfway underneath when he resituates himself. Bucky laughs, low and still raspy with sleep of his own. “Morning to you too, sunshine. Don’t suppose you want some tea?” He extends his arm over to take another sip. 

“Morning, daddy,” Steve says petulantly, voice sleep deep and half muffled into his pillow. He’s definitely still mostly asleep. His next words affirm about as much. “No thanks. Don’t feel like being that awake yet.” After he gets the words out, he yawns and stretches, letting a breathy sound out before settling back down into the bed on his belly, the muscles of his back bunching visibly even through his shirt where the blankets have slipped down enough for Bucky to see. 

Bucky laughs quietly again at the pet name. Maybe if this morning didn’t have him feeling so soft and lazy, that would have his dick more interested than it is, but as things are- as much as it’s a title for them during certain _things_ , it’s just a name as well. A domestic one that Steve, like most names other than _Buck,_ doesn’t use often. It’s nice to hear him say it so casually. Makes Bucky feel even cozier than the chamomile currently making its way to his stomach. “Sleep in then, sleeping beauty.” God knows he deserves it. Yesterday had been a hard one, and with Steve being the leader- it’s no wonder he’s feeling so lazy now. 

He’s lazy and not fully awake, but he still has it in him to fight back a _little_. “Not a princess last time I checked, Buck.” He’s drowsy, but that doesn’t stop him from being stubborn. “Not even a dame.”

Bucky hums, scrolling on his phone screen with one thumb while rubbing over the back of Steve’s neck with the other. “Prince, then?”

Steve grunts, but goes pliant when Bucky pushes down slightly. He sighs again, back to sounding sleepy. “Just Steve is fine.”

Chuckling, Bucky brushes over the baby hairs he’d had his beard against earlier and murmurs back a response that’s less teasing than it would be if he wanted to take advantage of Steve being not fully awake. Other mornings, he might do that, but he knows the storm most likely has Steve feeling anxious and a little cagey, hence how close he is to Bucky’s side even while he’s sitting up. “Alright then, just Steve. how about you just _sleep,_ yeah? I’ll be here when you wake up.” He takes a noisy sip of his drink- fine, he can tease a _bit._ “So will the offer for tea.”

“You ‘n your tea…” Steve’s voice is so soft it’s barely audible even to Bucky’s enhanced hearing. “Ridiculous.”

Bucky eyes him even though he’s facedown. “I could say a lot about you and _my_ sugar cubes, but I choose to be the bigger man.”

Steve sounds even sleepier now, if it’s possible, slipping further back under with every second he spends bundled under the blankets and against Bucky’s body. “We’re the same size now… And they’re _our_ sugar cubes… my kitchen too.”

Bucky raises his hand from Steve’s neck to kiss his fingers and fit them against the sliver of his forehead that’s peeking up from the pillow. It’s sappy, but something in Bucky says to do it anyways, so he does. “Remember that next time you tell me not to use all the creamer.”

“I’ll cream _you_.” Then, sounding like he’s barely clinging to consciousness, “Or you could do that to me. When I wake up.” His filter is fading out with his awareness, apparently. Normally he’d not be caught _dead_ saying something like that- would rather say _daddy_ ten times over than something as sordid as half the lines Bucky lays on him. 

Huffing out a breath, Bucky smiles fondly. “You better go back to sleep before you say something that you’ll regret when I bring it back up to you later.” He lowers his voice so that it’s as soft as they both so obviously feel, “Sleep. You’re safe in here. Storm might even be over by the time you wake up again.” 

Steve hasn’t said anything, but Bucky can see his shoulders and the slight way they’re tensing. Fear is irrational, especially in feeling. The cold and the water brings too many bad memories for Steve not to at least be feeling something _._ He feels the same about other sorts of things, sometimes, but they always get through it together. That’s what Bucky wants to help take care of now. 

Steve lets him. At least for now. “Wake me up before noon, please… got laundry to do.” He groans, so muffled and high that Bucky would think it was a moan if not for the stretch he can see Steve’s body go into. It’s a good one, based on how slurred his next words are. “Guess I can’t use the clothesline today.” 

It probably seems a bit silly to set one up outside their house, seeing as they still live in the city- but back in the day, lines like them had strung across nearly every back alley street. Not everyone had the spare dimes for a dryer, and the Rogers _definitely_ did not, so the clothesline has somewhat of a sentimental value. They haven’t gotten to use it yet having only put it up last week, and unfortunately, with the storm, it looks like it won’t be seeing much use today either. 

Bucky rubs down his back with a hand until he gets to the edge of the bunched down blankets and can drag them up until they’re tucked over Steve’s broad shoulders once again. He makes sure they’re up over his waist as well. “Will do.” He smiles and strokes over Steve’s hair once before letting him drop off like he’s been on the verge of ever since his alarm woke him up in the first place. “Sweet dreams, sweetheart. Go back to sleep.”

It’s with a long exhale that Steve does, relaxing little by little until he’s back to being slumped down completely under the covers, still curled up to Bucky’s side. Three seconds and the return of that telltale little wheeze is all that Bucky needs to know that he’s alone in being awake once again. Not _alone_ alone- he never will be as long as Steve’s with him, which hopefully means he never will be again. 

As much as Bucky cherishes the alone time he can take for and by himself (if not for pure enjoyment, but also because doing things for himself was something the Soldier never got to do in the first place), he likes things better most of the time with Steve there to enjoy them too. It’s the same other way around as well- Steve might not care much about learning to crochet, and God knows Bucky couldn’t sketch something worth looking at if he tried, but they can still sit with each other and enjoy them in silence. They can still take care to spend some of that alone time _together._ That’s what lifelong companions are for, aren’t they?

Bucky continues to sip at his still cooling tea, scrolling so long with his thumb that eventually it grows tired. He would switch his hand to the one that isn’t humanly capable of growing tired in the first place, but seeing as said hand _isn’t_ human- his phone screen has sort of a funny time recognizing it’s touch. He’s still communicating with Shuri to solve that little setback, but that’s sort of difficult now that they’re located overseas from where the other almost always is. 

Even with that being said, Bucky wouldn’t sacrifice his new home with Steve for the world, the weather, or any type of tech. Even the kind that would allow him to text with more than five fingers. Setting his phone and tea both down on the nightstand, he scratches said fingers through the hair on his chest and yawns while trying to decide what to do next. 

Steve’s still asleep, so the book and lamplight it requires is out. Breakfast, maybe. Bucky’s pretty hungry now that he thinks about it, and waking Steve up with something to eat isn’t a bad thought, especially if it’s something warm. Bucky’s not exactly feeling _under_ the weather but he’s definitely still trying to figure out what to do while they’re in it. 

Steve doesn’t stir yet again when Bucky slips back out of bed, taking his mug with him while he makes his way back to the kitchen. It’s not as dark outside, but it is just as dreary, grey light filtering in through the windows so that everything feels just as cold and damp as it is outside. Bucky remedies that best he can by turning on the space heater they always have sitting in the corner, a luxury Bucky wishes they’d been awarded with back when Steve’s feet were cold enough to really need it. Bucky’s might not _need_ it now, but it’s still nice to have. 

He turns on the overhead light as well, careful to close the cabinets quietly when he starts getting out what he needs to cook after. Steve’s not as light a sleeper as him, but better to be on the safe side either way. He’d been pretty clear (and pretty cute) about not wanting to wake up before he’s ready. 

The weather outside might not be sunny today, but Bucky decided to make sure that at least his eggs are- Steve likes them sunny side up, anyways, and Bucky’s counting on him stealing more than just his sugar cubes today. Along with that train of thought, he adds a few extra slices of toast so that they’ll have something to go with the yolk to soak it up, an extra scoop of berries to serve as the side, and to top it all off, another round of tea added to Bucky’s mug, this time with an added dash of lemon to mix in alongside the honey. Not exactly the world’s most complicated meal, but that’s not what Bucky was going for anyways. He’s feeling lazy. His breakfast is allowed to reflect that. 

Steve is _definitely_ still reflecting that sentiment by the time Bucky walks back into their bedroom, sprawled out over his side of the bed and then some. He remains flat on his stomach, but apparently had reached out for Bucky and collapsed his hands unhappily when he realized he wasn’t there. A big mook, even when he’s sleeping. Bucky snorts and does his best to make it better, setting their food to the side for a moment in favor of getting back into bed and smiling when Steve grumbles and leans into his returned body heat gratefully. 

God, he loves him. Never can seem to stop thanking his lucky stars (and the stars that have proven to be less than that) for making sure they made it back together enough to share slow mornings like these so easily. 

He unfortunately can’t touch Steve while eating- the toast requires both hands, one to hold it and the other to cradle underneath and catch the crumbs Bucky knows Steve would kill him for if they made their way onto the sheets. But soon enough, Steve solves that problem himself by stirring back awake and shifting to clutch at Bucky’s thigh under the covers as soon as his consciousness hits him. He shudders his way through a yawn and a stretch, lips smacking and eyes squeezing shut tighter for a brief moment before he’s finally opening them up to look at Bucky with a scrunched up, sleepy expression. 

His mouth is slightly open, divot between his eyebrows deeper than ever, and hair fluffed up beyond all hell- Bucky wants to smooth out every imperfection with his thumb (either one. The metal might not work on a phone screen, but on his fella they both work just as well). Steve is already perfect, though. Part of Bucky wants to keep him this way, tucked away from all the thunder and the rain. His own little personal ray of sunshine. 

Said _sunshine_ is a little bit sour at the current moment. He’s always been more of the morning person, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t get up grumpy sometimes. His voice is gruff when he speaks. “G’morning.”

Bucky hums and lets himself have another bite of breakfast before setting it down to stroke a hand down Steve’s back instead. “Morning. Again.”

“Wha’time’s it?” 

Glancing at the clock, Bucky gives him an answer, voice as low as Steve is still slumped against the bed. “Nearly ten. Nine forty-five.” Steve groans and buries his head against Bucky’s hip, Bucky’s expression going affectionate as he watches him do it. “Least it’s before noon. That’s what you wanted, wasn’t it?” He’s teasing now.

Steve doesn’t seem to appreciate it, half awake or not. He’s Bucky’s sweetheart always, but not always so easily _sweet_ when on his way to being fully up and at ‘em. “When our second bedroom starts seeing more use, don’t think you’ll have to wonder why,” he grumbles. It’s a front and they both know it- like either of them have a good time falling asleep without the other. Spooning obviously doesn’t solve all their problems, but it makes the ones at night a bit easier to bear. 

Still, Bucky snorts, choosing to call him out on the bluff rather than let it lie. They’re already doing enough lying around as it is. “Don’t think Sam will appreciate you stealing his favorite spot to sleep over in.”

Steve groans again, this time getting up on his elbows to give Bucky a halfhearted glare to go with it. “Who says I’d be the one over there? Maybe I’ll make _you_ move.”

Even when they’re mad at each other, he wouldn’t actually ever do that, but what they both already know doesn’t need to be reiterated. Instead, Bucky smiles and ruffles at Steve’s hair with one hand while reaching over for his tea with the other. “Good luck with that, big guy.” Steve might be strong, but Bucky’s still pretty solid, and it’s not like Steve l actually wants him to move anyways. Steve doesn’t answer outside of a grunt, so Bucky goes on instead of waiting for a reply. “You get enough sleep?”

Steve shoves his face into the space between his pillow and the softness of Bucky’s side where the skin rises above the waistband of his underwear. “Already slept seventy years,” he says drowsily. “Don’t guess I’ll really ever need anymore.” He yawns and kisses at Bucky’s hip when he’s finished. “What about you? You got up pretty early this morning.”

Bucky pulls on his hair a little at the remark about the ice- it’s good he can joke about it now, especially in this sort of weather, but Bucky still wants him to know he doesn’t have to. Besides, he may have ‘slept’ seventy years, but that doesn’t mean he didn’t have good reason to get tired yesterday. “Rain on the roof woke me up. Wasn’t too bad, though. Gave me the chance to make some tea and catch up on reading that article about that self driving truck I told you about the other day.”

It’s Steve’s turn to snort, hands reaching out to hug around Bucky’s waist so that the other man will allow him to cuddle closer. He does so happily. “I seem to remember Howard promising us both a _flying_ car by now, but I suppose something is better than nothing.”

Starks _always_ seem to have a habit of not making good on their promises, but Bucky chooses not to bring that up right now. _He_ won’t be bringing up Tony with Steve tucked up tight to him like he is. Still, he shakes his head and tries not to sound too exasperated when he responds. “Like you care much about cars anyways. When did you _actually_ get your license again?” The answer to that is technically only last year, and well- Bucky may have grown up in a family with a car, but Sam’s city driving lessons with Steve (because warzone rules of the road are a little different) could only go so far. He’s still a bit too heavy on the brake, and parking is pretty much a lost cause. “Besides, we already have quinjets and autopilot. I guess that’s close enough.”

“Those cars you showed me are kinda ugly anyways,” Steve murmurs, voice still dreamlike. “Would rather have the VW any day.”

_Bucky_ would rather not have either with Steve behind the wheel, but he doesn’t say that out loud (Steve’s still laying down, but that only means that Bucky’s dick is in an even more accessible punching distance). Instead, he takes another bite of toast, tugging on Steve’s hair after and helping him lift his head in order to hold it out in the offer for him to take one as well. “Want some of this, or would you rather me go see if I can rustle up something else?”

Eggs in general- let alone cooked sunny side up, Sarah’s (and now Bucky’s) specialty- were a luxury Steve usually only got on occasions that he was sick. A bit of a pick me up _and_ proper nutrition, as it were. Getting to have them now definitely isn’t as big of a deal, but Steve still likes them just as much, so he doesn’t hesitate to take Bucky up on the procured bite of bread soaked in yolk, blinking sleep out of his eyes with a squint while chewing with a still slightly slow moving jaw. 

He speaks after swallowing, tone just as gentle as Bucky’s flesh fingers scratching against his scalp are. “Thanks, Buck.”

Bucky feeds him another bite before answering and letting him take the rest to eat on his own. “No problem, sweetheart.” 

Steve polishes off the piece of toast in a matter of seconds, licking crumbs off Bucky’s fingertips and then his own as. He glances out the window once he’s done, sitting up slightly to crane his neck grimacing at the sight of so much rain, the storm still going on outside steady as it had been when he woke up the first time. The thunder has calmed down a bit, at least, thank God. “Pretty gross out there today. It supposed to be like this the whole damn day?”

Bucky nods, having checked the forecast on his phone when Steve was still fast asleep. “Unfortunately. Weather app said it’s supposed to stay storming until at least after sundown.” There hasn’t been much noticeable lightning yet today, but from the looks of it, there might be some later. Bucky hopes not. That’s always Steve’s least favorite part, even more so than the thunder. With things as they are for him, getting used to being around Thor sure must have taken some getting used to. Bucky has half a mind to call the guy up right now and see if _he_ can get all the grim weather to stop. 

He probably could, but as much as Steve is okay with being loved on now, he still _hates_ being coddled. Calling Thor to stop a storm would definitely fall under the proverbial umbrella. Steve’s still stubborn like that. 

He tugs on his hair again instead and offers him the mug of tea after taking a sip from it of his own. Steve shakes his head, so Bucky sets it back down on the table. “We can just stay inside the house today, yeah? Not like that’s not what it’s here for.”

“Sounds like a hell of a better option than stepping foot into that mess,” Steve agrees, sitting up fully and stretching both arms up being his head, back and biceps flexing until he finishes and goes back to being limp, this time tucking his head carefully to lean on the cool side of Bucky’s shoulders. 

He yawns, right into Bucky’s ear, and Bucky can’t help but privately think he sounds like a tired house cat that’s mad about having no sun to nap in. His morning breath is more on the _lion_ side of the spectrum, as is his hair. Bucky kisses him through it anyways, mouth moving gently against Steve’s own so the blonde can finish waking as slow as he still wants. Bucky’s in no hurry. They have nowhere to be, so Bucky doesn’t hesitate to slip a hand into his said bedhead, grounding them down in the dark even as the kiss feels like it’s lighting him up inside. 

Steve, though- Bucky may have always been deemed the _fast_ one back in the day, but that was when it came to things like fucking and flirting and making time with girls who were equally as fast with mouths just as fresh. When it came to everything else- fighting, in particular- Steve was always the one with the need for speed, trying to push his body to its limits towards things he had no business to be doing, at least not where his lungs and the rest of his health was considered. 

He’s healthy as a horse now (maybe _horselike_ in more than one comparative sense with all the damn sugar cubes he snacks on) but the serum doesn’t stop him from still trying to speed things up sometimes. Hell, he’s so stubborn that almost nothing can- but Bucky can. Bucky _does._

He’s forced to do so right now, pulling back and cutting off their kiss as soon as he feels Steve start creeping a slow hand towards where certain _things_ sit between his thighs under top blankets that are bunched up around them both. He huffs and tightens his own hand where he still has it buried in blonde strands. “You just woke up, hotshot. What are you trying to do starting all that so soon? You don’t even wanna finish breakfast first?”

Steve at least has the decency to try and look demure- if the light in the bedroom were better, Bucky would wager he’s blushing. He has every reason to with what words he chooses to let out next. “You said you wanted to stay inside all day,” he says, slow in a way that’s more sleepy than stupid. It’s the same bluntness he’d had with Bucky this morning when it came being soft, only this time it’s being used to be a little _shit_ instead of a little _sweet._ “Why can’t that apply to staying inside _me_?” So much for not sounding sordid. 

It’s not strictly out of character, but it is surprising, and a portion of Bucky’s brain suspects this is Steve trying to play things up so that Bucky won’t notice the less than pleasant feelings he holds about the weather. Well, it _would_ work if not for the fact Bucky knows him better than anyone, sometimes (most times) even better than himself. 

It’s because of this that he gives him the look that he does, looping an arm around his back during one moment and giving him a noogie with the other during the next. It’s effective in getting him both sidetracked _and_ slightly flustered, which is exactly what Bucky is aiming for. Today is a day they should spend relaxing, preferably without Steve having to feel like he has to front. Rain or shine, serum or sickness, Bucky always pulls him through. Steve might be stubborn as hell, but part of him should know that by now. 

Bucky pinches the soft skin on the side of his chest just to drive the point home with a little bit of scolding. “You wanna start some nonsense before noon, you could at least ask _nicely._ ” He isn’t saying _no-_ he almost never does with what Steve’s offering right now- but Steve’s not using it as a distraction from whatever he’s feeling without Bucky working out exactly what that is first, no siree. Besides, Bucky might have a soft spot for Steve’s face turning pink when he has to ask permission. It’s a pretty rare occurrence. 

His face feels hot where it’s buried into Bucky’s neck from the noogie, stubble of his sleep bristled beard no doubt getting his skin even pinker while he protests. Bucky has to swat away his wayward attempt at a retailing wet willy even while Steve’s still responding. Like Bucky said- much sweeter when he’s sleepy, but that doesn’t mean he _can’t_ be that way when he’s awake. 

He sure sounds grouchy, though. “Saying you can fuck me isn’t already nice enough?” He kicks at Bucky’s shin under the blanket, but laughs when Bucky’s flesh fingers tickle into his sides. They’re both grown men, but also in their hearts still the same kids who met on the street in Brooklyn and haven’t wanted to be separated since. Which is what makes it _entirely_ unsurprising when Steve sticks his tongue in his ear about two seconds later. 

Bucky makes a mocking sound of disgust and shoves him away only for Steve to use all that serum strength to cling even closer, holding onto his side with all the stubbornness of a force to be reckoned with, which is something he always has been even before he had the serum. But Bucky is used to exactly what wrestling with Steve entails by now, and whether Steve is big or small, Bucky fights to _win-_ so it’s with that thought in mind that he kicks back and rolls on top of him, making sure to be careful of where he puts his prosthetic while he sets to working on pinning the other man into the mattress. He’s panting and probably breaking a sweat, but also wears a proud smile on his face by the time he properly sees his victory through. 

Steve, now back to being laid out on his stomach underneath him, turns his head to give him a glare that would register as venomous if not for the fluffed up bedhead offsetting the effect. Like this wasn’t exactly where he wanted to be in the first place, even if the _way_ he got here was different. “Cheater.” 

It’s the same complaint Bucky’s been hearing from him since they were kids, despite the fact he’s never done so in their dumb competitions past maybe age eight. He can’t help Steve always loses. Sometimes Bucky thinks he even _lets_ himself do so on purpose and only protests out of reflex. 

Not that that really matters, not now. For all that Steve says Bucky is a cheat, he’s the one who pulls out the dirty trick not two seconds later with another twist of his neck to peer up from underneath. “You gonna sit up there all morning, or are you gonna _do_ something to make this weather a bit more bearable?” 

Oh, he’s feeling feisty this morning, must be. Bucky knows how to take care of a lot of things when it comes to this man- and he _definitely_ knows how to take care of that. “Don’t suppose I can waste all the day away- how about we make a deal?” Steve doesn’t answer, but Bucky goes on anyways. “You go to the bathroom, brush your teeth, use the toilet, whatever you need while I get everything ready in here.” _Everything_ refers to in this scenario their slick and a condom, maybe a towel. No sense in messing up the covers when Bucky plans on spending pretty much all day under them. “Deal?” He digs his fingers into Steve’s shoulder to help spur an answer. 

works. “Deal.” Then, with a sigh, “Gotta get off me then, Buck.”

Bucky snorts, but does. “Was planning on getting off _in_ you, sugar. We’ll see about what else I want later.” Bad intentions laid out with a responding blush from Steve between them, Bucky grins and gets back on his side of the bed to rummage through his drawers. He knows he has their sex stuff in here somewhere.

Steve, for his part, slides off the bed and tries to sound a bit more proper than he looks after having been pressed and pinned down. His cheeks are still pink, Bucky can tell, finally switching on the lamp to help light his search. “I’ll be back in a few seconds.”

“And I’ll spend every one of them missing you,” Bucky croons, purposely sugar sweet enough to make Steve’s nose scrunch. Same as the cubes, though, Steve likes it a lot. It’s not as much of a secret as he likes to think, but the blonde has never been very subtle where Bucky is concerned. 

“You’re crazy,” Steve says, shaking his head and padding his way to their door. He leaves it propped open enough when he exits for Bucky to not have to raise his voice much to be heard from the hall. 

“About you, Stevie pie!” The play on _sweetie pie-_ a pet name that’s already corny enough without the personal touch- gets an even more active reaction from Steve than _sugar tits_ had, a groan Bucky can hear from across the hall and behind two propped open doors paired with a flush still staining Steve’s cheeks once he finally steps back inside. 

“You’re ridiculous,” he informs him, so quiet it’s almost lost to the sound of the rain still drumming on their roof. “Absolutely awful.”

“Awfully in _love_ with you, babycakes.” Bucky’s voice lowers to a murmur as Steve makes his way back over to the bed, coming closer until he’s able to crawl up right under the covers and somehow curl his big body right up on Bucky’s chest. He doesn’t even bother going around back around to his side to do it, just slips under the sheets and situations himself like Bucky’s given him an open invitation. Really, with how often they do this, he has. 

“What is it with all the food comparisons this morning, huh?” Steve says quietly, letting Bucky’s fingers slip their way under the waistband of his sleep shorts while he settles down more comfortably for what’s to come. The towel is thankfully tucked underneath them already, so it doesn’t require much moving. “Thought you already ate.”

Bucky huffs into a kiss smacking on top of his hair, beard catching slightly on the strands so that Steve sticks a little when he moves to lift his head for one next placed properly on his lips. “Mm. Maybe I just wanna eat _you_.” He might, later, but the two of them both poking at each other's hips with their hard ons gives them more pressing problems to handle, quite literally when Bucky brings Steve back in for a kiss that quickly turns filthy. 

After their mouths meet and Bucky’s tongue slips inside, everytime else is just background noise. None of it really registers- not the rain beating on the house or the air system humming steady in the background, or even the sound of thunder cracking in tandem with the shifting places if Bucky’s prosthetic as he cradles Steve’s jaw closer. Bucky’s tongue still leads, but it doesn’t take long for Steve to join in tentatively with his own. 

Sitting like this, with both thighs splayed over top of where Bucky’s spread thicker, it isn’t hard for Steve to get worked up fast. Maybe this started as somewhat of a distraction of the storm, but if that’s the case- it’s definitely working, and _working_ well. Steve’s sighing into the kisses and shifting around in no time, nose bumping clumsily against Bucky’s once the brunette pulls back for them to both take in a breath. 

Steve’s inhale and heavy exhale are accompanied by a soft sound that’s similar to some of the sighs he’d let out earlier, sweet and soft and everything Bucky needs to hear in order to lean in and kiss him again. He pulls Steve into it, maybe a bit too hard by the hair, but Steve lets him, and Bucky loves him. 

People who see Steve lead on the outside might be surprised at what sort of things they get up to on the inside, especially the roles that Steve- the most traditional leader to the masses that there is- takes with Bucky, his second in command. But that’s in the field. That’s in a _fight_. And Steve might be stubborn as hell, feisty as all get out when he’s trying to goad Bucky into fucking him, but there’s no real fight here. When they’re like this, this is always how it is. Bucky wouldn’t trade these little things, these little secrets he has with Steve sexually or otherwise, for the world. What everyone else sees from Cap doesn’t mean a damn, not as long as Bucky gets _Steve_ and is able to see him like this. 

_Like this_ can mean a lot of things, but in this moment, it means messy haired and moaning, mouth dropped open and both hands digging their way into the mismatched material of Bucky’s shoulders. _Like this_ means still just as stubborn, but a lot more outwardly sweet. Soft as he was when he woke up, even when what’s between his legs decidedly isn’t. With how Steve’s hips are rocking down, what’s between Bucky’s isn’t either. 

Eventually, Bucky decides it’s time for them to move on from making out. He’s got a promise to make good on after all- maybe not one that’s come out verbal this morning, but one that’s been set in place since the very beginning, since Steve’s shoes were always soggy and his body was always sick. He’s gonna take care of him. And now, here, in their home, Steve is finally going to let him. 

He still makes a slightly unhappy sound when Bucky drops his hands away, but that’s quickly remedied when Bucky uses those hands to initiate the removal of his shirt. Getting with the program, his shorts and underwear follow, as do Bucky’s own boxers, and soon enough they’re settled back down to where they were before, only this time naked but somehow still as warm.

The covers have slipped down to not be covering them at all, but Steve’s running hot as the furnace Bucky used to make him sleep beside, weather outside not even a thought in their minds. How can they think of anything but each other when they’re touching like this? Even when his hands aren’t gripping Steve’s ass or stroking his cock, he’s still half of what’s on Bucky’s mind, but as things currently are- he’s almost all of it. All that isn’t is made up of his own arousal, which Steve is trying his best to take care of on his own end. 

He’s eager to please in this part of his life as well, but nowhere near as _take control_. He gets enough of that having been Cap for as long as he’s been in a body that works well enough to have it, gets enough if that with the stress of being someone as stubborn as Steve Rogers is alone. Still, his hand is sure as he strokes over Bucky’s cock, not stopping even when Bucky abandons his own ministrations when he has to lean over to grab the slick. 

Before noon, Steve said. Bucky will make sure he works within the timeframe- Steve’s clothes aren’t the only laundry that needs to be done. Bucky would like to wash his favorite sweatshirt as well- _someone_ happened to spill coffee on it yesterday while taking a mission call on his way out the door. 

He pauses for a second to warm up the lube between his flesh fingertips (it doesn’t work as well when he tries this with his metal ones, they’ve come to find, not to mention it’s a _bitch_ to make sure to get out of the plating) but doesn’t hesitate in bringing them down to Steve’s hole over that, rubbing the pad of his middle finger over it until the rim gives and he can finally slip inside. 

Steve sighs into his neck as he does so, shifting over where he’s still straddling his lap and licking at the skin where he’s got his face buried while Bucky begins loosening up his body. Bucky’s sure he tastes like sleep sweat, but Steve doesn’t seem to mind. _He_ certainly doesn’t mind the faint whiff of green apple mixed with green tea he gets from their shared shampoo when he places a soft kiss of his own to the soft cartilage that makes up the curve of Steve’s ear. Maybe after this, after they’ve settled back down and the morning is over, they can shower together. But until then-

“Fuck,” Steve exhales, voice as shaky as his thighs go when Bucky pushes a second finger in and immediately starts searching for his prostate. “Buck-“ He doesn’t use any more words after that, breaking off into an unintelligible moan instead as the other man strokes at his inside like he’s playing some sort of finely tuned instrument. If Steve were one, Bucky would be selling out concerts, he thinks. 

He doesn’t bring that up- like he said, stupid secrets stay between him and himself. Instead, he presses another finger deeper at the same time he presses another kiss to his ear and then the crown of his head. “Fuck? Buck?” he murmurs, aroused and amused in equal measures. “Quite the poet, aren’t you? Pretty _and_ creative?” He laughs when Steve lays a weak one on his arm at the line. “A damn catch, that’s what I’ve got in my bed.”

“I’ve got the biggest tease in all of Brooklyn in mine,” Steve mutters, but he only sounds mad in the momentary sense. Actually, he starts sounding _real_ happy when Bucky finally finds his sweet spot a second later. “ _Oh_ ,” he gets out, so gentle Bucky almost misses it. But there’s no mistaking his next words- “Buck- _daddy,_ c’mon. I’m ready.”

“Are you really, sweetheart?” If Bucky sounds like an asshole, it’s because he is one, but Steve knows this, and him saying that name so sweetly has always had a sort of inflating effect upon Bucky’s ego. Temporarily, of course. As soon as it’s over and Steve’s back down on earth, he’s always sure to bring Bucky back down with him.

Steve’s voice has always been deep, probably a bit deeper than Bucky’s own, but the next noise he lets out borders on a whine anyways. “Really.” 

He must really want it if he’s not even mad about Bucky acting like he knows the answer better than Steve would know considering it’s _his_ body Bucky’s fingers are curling in. He does want it, apparently, enough to say _pretty please_ \- minus the pretty, but his looks more than make up for that, especially the one he’s giving Bucky now as he borders on begging. Captain America shouldn’t beg anyone, let alone an ex-Soviet assassin, but Steve- Bucky’s sweet spitfire of a boy- he does, and it’s a display that shows so much trust taking into consideration who they both are that it makes Bucky’s heart beat faster than any fucking thunderstorm could make it. 

“Please, Bucky. C’mon. _Please_.” Steve lifts his head and looks at him with eyes that are hazy, but burn bright as the sun that’s spending the day hiding away. “I’m ready for you to take care of me. Don’t leave me hanging.”

If the _daddy_ card is a dirty trick to pull, this trick- this _truth-_ is ten times as worse. Or better, depending on how you look at it. Bucky doesn’t really look at all- he’s too busy acting. 

Steve wants to be taken care of? He will be. Always, as long as Bucky is around to know Steve will help take care of _him_ too. No matter the weather, they stick together. 

Bucky pulls the three fingers he’d had inside him out, Steve making a face and small sound at the loss and sudden cold where the lube on him now sits wet in the open air. Bucky doesn’t let that discomfort sit for too long before he’s reaching over to fumble under the covers for the condom he’d grabbed earlier that’s slipped underneath. It’s quick work after that to hand it to Steve and watch him tear it open- if his fingers are clumsy enough to fumble when he finally does so, that’s fine. That might even be why Bucky gave it to him in the first place. 

What? It’s cute seeing how much he wants it, and the rubber actually being rolled on feels better from a hand that isn’t his own. Bucky’s never gonna complain about Steve touching his cock, and he definitely isn’t going to complain about seeing him so happy to do it. 

He’s happy enough to hurry, and soon enough, Bucky’s dick is covered and Steve decides to take matters into his own hands in an attempt to guide Bucky into his body in an obvious attempt that says he’s ready to ride him. It’s sweet, really, but Bucky isn’t having it- Steve’s stubborn as shit, always trying to speed things up even when he’s supposed to be letting Bucky take the reigns. Sometimes it’s sort of fun to see him try and get bossy only to go right back to being sweet when Bucky steps back in- but not at the expense of him hurting himself. Idiot didn’t even add more lube, and he’s loose, but not enough to take it so dry. 

Stilling him with a hand squeezing his hip- the metal one to make sure the message really sinks in- Bucky grabs the lube himself and gets to making sure he’s slick enough so that the slide inside will be easy. Steve huffs at having to wait, as if it’s not maybe an extra damn thirty seconds, the impatient little punk- but soon enough all of that irritation slips off his face and is replaced with pure bliss as the blunt head of Bucky’s cock bumps against his hole and he kisses him while he begins to press inside. 

Normally, they do a bit more talking when they’re doing this. The distraction helps ease the sting and some of the discomfort that comes with stretching open one of the most vulnerable areas of the body, but this morning seems to be different. Not _somber,_ but… still, maybe, even while they’re both about to move a _lot_ more than they have been. This space between them with them both safe inside their homes while things are so harsh outside- it’s something special. Intimate, even with the sex they’re having aside. 

Bucky felt the same way when he was doing stuff as simple as drinking tea with Steve asleep by his side. He feels even more aware of it now that he’s bottoming out inside him, sinking in slow and deep, finally breaking the lull in speaking as he does so. “Christ almighty,” he swears, thighs tensed tight with how he’s holding back from humping forward like his body really wants. But Steve comes first, and Bucky’s gotta ask again- “You ready, baby?”

Steve blinks a little slow, but glances down to where his own cock is sitting stiff between their stomachs, as wet at the tip as things are outside. He looks up at Bucky again after, expression equal parts petulant and imploring. He wants Bucky to touch him, clearly, but wants him to get on with it even more. Bucky will give him both- would have even without the goading _Steve_ gives _him_ next. “Ready as I’ll ever be, daddy.” He grins slyly and tilts his head when Bucky side eyes him with a playful glare. “C’mon, Buck. Know we have all day, but-“

He’s right. They do. Bucky still decides to use him saying so as an excuse to shut him _up_. Grabbing his hips and fucking inside him to make him cut off the complaining with a moan might not be the most conventional method of doing so, but truly it works wonders. Bucky should know- he’s been using that same type of trick since he was twenty. 

It works now as well as it did back when Steve was skinny and always simmering on the edge of snapping- Steve’s always been soft on the inside for those who could get close enough to see it, but now, he’s softer around the edges even with those who only see him as Cap. Back then, though- he was Bucky’s alley cat, always itching for a fight. 

Now, Bucky briefly wonders if he could get away with calling him _kitten_ just to tease, but seeing as he just shut him up from one complaint, he doesn’t quite yet want to work in coaxing out another. Besides, he has better things to focus on than making Steve bristle. _Bigger_ things, too. 

Steve’s got both hands still clutched to Bucky’s shoulders, whereas Bucky’s got one on his hip- (the silver) and one in his hair (the flesh), both of them working together until Steve’s moaning and muscles going so slack that thinks his brain is no longer working at all. One muscle is still tight, though- Bucky’s got a better hold on that then any of those other ones the serum blessed Steve’s new body with. 

He sucks in a breath, Steve’s blunt nails digging into the side of the shoulder he still has feeling in. “Fuck, sweetheart. Might never have to get out of bed again if this is what we can do to pass the time,” he gets out, hips moving faster at the same time Steve gets back to pushing his on down. 

Steve makes a soft little gasping sound once Bucky hits his sweet spot, voice wrecked when he answers. “Guess rainy days don’t have to be a complete loss after all.” He smiles dreamily when Bucky chuckles, hand curling closer around the back of his neck to nudge back into a kiss that has their noses brushing together once they part. 

“One hell of a wake up call you’re getting,” Bucky agrees. “Think you can stomach me being your new alarm, angel face?” This time, the teasing with the name is intentional, and they both know it. 

Steve groans anyways, then gasps again when Bucky moves his hand from his hip to his cock, the only thing now keeping him from going flying off Bucky’s lap being the blonde’s own fingers clinging to his shoulders and the heavier set weight from the serum, holding him down almost as solid as Bucky’s own. “ _Bucky_.”

“What, no more _daddy_?” Bucky mocks good naturedly. 

That gets him a groan and a glare, Steve gritting his teeth at another graze to his prostate but managing to get out, “ _daddy_ ” in a voice so sarcastic that Bucky can’t help but let out a laugh that comes from as deep in his body as he currently is in Steve’s own. 

“You’re a fucking _punk_ ,” he says, fond even while he’s fucking him. “You’re lucky you’re pretty.”

“Yeah?” Steve says, trying to sound sharp but unable to hold back the smile that breaks free into a beam that lights up the room brighter than any lamp or lightning. “Don’t know why I put up with your ugly mug, old man.”

“ _Old man?_ ” Bucky scoffs, still poking fun. “Don’t take the daddy thing so literally, pal. You’re a year younger.”

Steve squints, then plants a sloppy kiss to his cheek just so he can speak into his stubble. “Like you don’t like it,” he murmurs. “You’ve been holding that damn year over my head since 1933.”

Bucky places his own kiss on his lips, words low against them as he rolls his hips up at a slightly more leisurely pace. “Guess stopping now would make me a quitter.”

“Can’t have that,” Steve's voice floats out like he’s lost in his head, eyes so hazy that when Bucky looks at him- it’s what finally makes him snap. 

He flips them both without bothering with another word, not to the side, but to the opposite end of the bed so that when they settle back down, it’s with Steve on the bottom with his head and Bucky’s body both facing towards the door. The blankets are bunched down and the towel (thankfully) is still tucked underneath them, so Bucky doesn’t have to take a second moment to make sure they’re ready to go before he’s bracing his weight on his elbows and looking down at Steve with a smile as he slides back inside and sets to getting down to it once more. 

Steve’s letting out a punched out moan at the new angle, ankles crossing behind Bucky’s back and pulling in like he’s trying to make him go deeper. Bucky does, and that just gets Steve to moan again, so loud it drowns out the clap of thunder that times instead to sound off at the same time as Bucky’s next thrust. It doesn’t startle Steve, but Bucky jolts a little- Christ, he’d almost forgotten how this started. 

Luckily, Steve doesn’t seem to notice, too busy losing himself to the sensation of Bucky blanketing over top him so that his cock bumps in between them and brushes against their bellies. His eyes are closed until Bucky kisses his collarbone, and when he opens again, they’re so blue with the way they’re watered up that it takes Bucky’s breath away. “Buck,” he croaks out, hands curling to cradle the back of his head into hair still tangled by sleep. “Buck.”

“What, Stevie?” When Bucky speaks, he really is breathless, but it’s more from exertion than anything. Steve won’t be the only one with a reason to be tired once they’re through. 

Steve inhales, and Bucky almost thinks he’s preparing for some big speech (he should know better- Steve’s never good with talking when they’re like this) but his next words come out impossibly small. Those three little ones Bucky is always aching to hear. “I love you.”

“Oh, sweetheart,” Bucky says softly, putting all his weight on his prosthetic so he can free up his flesh hand and fit it over the side of Steve’s face, thumb touching to the tip of his nose. “I love you back.” Then, bringing his hand down to touch the tip of something _else_ between them, “Come whenever you want to. I’ve got you.”

Steve sighs as Bucky begins stroking over him, sounding like he’s sinking into a stretch he’s been avoiding too long. “Always do,” he says, so soft it’s almost sleepy. But when Bucky starts chasing his own orgasm, snapping his hips to drive deeper inside- the moan he lets out is of a man that is very much awake. “Fuck, Bucky-“ his breath hitches, voice breaking. “ _Buck_ -“

“Don’t hold back, honey,” Bucky rasps, already on his own way to reaching the peak he knows Steve is on the edge of. Steve doesn’t ever really need to hold back with him, but especially not now. Not today. Bucky works his hand and hips faster, trying to push Steve towards the release he knows he’s nearing. “Go ahead and come for me.”

With a groan, Steve does so between their stomachs, and it only takes a few more stuttered thrusts into Steve’s body tightening around him for Bucky to do the same. Both of them pant through the aftershocks as they ride out the pleasure, but once Steve’s legs slip loose and Bucky collapses to lay on top of him, the room is filled with enough silence again for them to finally hear the rain that’s still pouring outside. 

Steve’s the one who breaks it this time, removing a hand from Bucky’s back to scrub over his eyes and let out a sigh of satisfaction. “Jesus.”

Bucky smiles and kisses his forehead, waiting for Steve to give him a small nod before he starts to pull out, not wanting to surprise him with the sudden emptiness. “Just me, but I guess my hair is getting pretty long.”

“Looks more like a rat’s nest from where I’m sitting.” Steve watches with half lidded eyes as Bucky leans back to tie off the condom and toss it into the trash can they keep beside their bed. He’s trying to stay subtle about staring at Bucky’s body, but it doesn’t quite work when Bucky catches him still looking when he turns back around with the wet wipes he’d pulled out earlier in preparation to clean them up. Steve colors at being caught, but Bucky just chuckles. 

“You wanna shower now to clean up or wait a while and see if the weather clears up?” Ever since Sam told them that story about someone getting electrocuted in the bath when their house was struck by lightning, Steve hasn’t liked to risk doing the same. Bucky’s still not sure the story is true- he is not _scared_ , thank you very much, Sam- but some stress is just better to avoid. 

Steve takes a second to think, but eventually settles on shaking his head. “Think we could just stay in here for a while?” he asks quietly, letting Bucky clean off his stomach. “I could go make you some more tea while you brush your hair if you want. Take care of the dishes real fast.”

It’s tempting. Bucky’s eyes flick to the book he has on the nightstand when he turns again to throw out the wipes they’d used as well, balling up the towel to toss towards the hamper after. When his gaze returns to Steve, it softens at the sight of him stretching with both arms above his head, hands halfway hanging off the mattress while he lets out a yawn. He’s still naked too. Bucky’s less subtle about his own staring than Steve was. He even goes as far as bending down to plant a kiss over where his belly has gone soft into the exhale, breathing in the scent of baby powder off his freshly cleaned skin. 

Who is he to say no when he doesn’t have to? They deserve to have this, whether it’s sunny outside or they’re stuck in a hailstorm. 

He smiles and dips down to kiss Steve’s navel again before getting back up and off the bed to fish out a clean pair of briefs for them both. For Steve, he gets a sweater as well, already aware he doesn’t do well in the cold even in this context. And here in their home, he doesn’t have to. Bucky will make sure he keeps Steve warm with him no matter what the weather is outside. 

“I’ll take you up on the offer for that tea.” Pulling his underwear up over his thighs, he gives Steve a grin while he’s doing the same. “Hair might take a bit longer to sort out, so don’t worry if it takes me a while.”

Steve huffs and rakes a hand through his own hair, getting up off the bed to pull his sweater on and go search for some socks. “Any particular type of tea you want?”

“Surprise me.” Before he heads out to the bathroom where his hairbrush is, Bucky pauses to grab the stuff from his side of the nightstand drawers to light the candle he’d had in mind earlier. It smells like caramel and kettle corn- makes him think about all their trips to Coney Island as children. Steve’s inhale and responding sigh as the scent hits him tells Bucky that for him it does the same. 

It takes about ten minutes for them to regroup back together, Bucky beating him back to the bed by some miracle (detangling spray, courtesy of Natasha) with his hair in a bun and back against the pillows arranged against the headboard, his book laying beside him. When Steve walks back in, that’s the sight he’s welcomed with. Bucky himself is welcomed by being handed a cup of fresh brewed tea- orange cinnamon, by the smell, some of that fancy Teavana shit Sam got them both for Christmas. 

He accepts the cup. Steve crawls up again on his lap immediately after peeling his socks off- Bucky guesses he doesn’t need them now with his feet under the blankets, but that doesn’t stop his toes from feeling cold as _icicles_ against Bucky’s calves. He groans, but is still gentle when rearranging Steve more comfortably against his chest. There’s a Capsicle joke right on the tip of his tongue, but he doesn’t think saying that sort of thing in this sort of weather is what’s needed. 

No, what’s needed is Steve burying his face in Bucky’s neck as Bucky pulls the blankets up over him and sets up so he can read over his shoulder the book braced behind Steve’s back. What’s needed is Steve sighing and snuggling closer, knowing he’s safe in their home with Bucky by his side, warm and solid. Bucky knows he’ll do anything to keep him this way. If it settles Steve enough to try and fall back asleep, that’s no one’s business but theirs. 

The thunder and lightning might be raging with the rain pouring down outside- but Steve and Bucky are safe in here. Steve is safe inside Bucky’s arms. Bucky’s heart is safe inside Steve’s hands. it all works out in the end. Because _that’s_ what’s needed most of all. Not just now, but always. 

“Love you,” Steve says out of the silence, quiet into Bucky’s shoulder with his face pressed half into the pillows. He nuzzles his nose in as Bucky turns the page and pets the same hand down to clasp over the nape of his neck. 

“Love you back,” Bucky murmurs, lips against his forehead. “Still want me to wake you up before noon?” It’s nearly eleven, quarter to it according to the clock. 

Steve shakes his head. “No. Laundry can wait ‘til later. Just wanna lay here with you.”

“You lay here as long as you want, sweetheart,” Bucky tells him, something surging up in his chest that has his heart urging him to cuddle Steve closer. Coddling him, babying him- those are never things Steve has allowed to come easy, but this comes easier than anything, and that means a lot for men who have lived lives as hard as theirs. The fact they get to have this… Bucky will weather any storm or scare of sickness to see that happen. 

Storms don’t mean much, anyways. Not when he’s already got his sunshine always by his side. 

**Author's Note:**

> i debated on making this the sub steve book club march installment but i have a fic for bucky’s birthday i’m about to write that i want to work in for that. it’s going to be (shocker) service top sub steve in an Outfit earnestly trying to make sure bucky is pampered on his special day so hopefully people don’t jump me! dom bucky isn’t going anywhere, don’t worry. 
> 
> comments & kudos are what keeps the content coming, so feel free to spare what you can! feedback is my favorite. i’m not above begging. as usual, i hope you enjoyed. stay safe & see you next time around.


End file.
